Caring is Not an Advantage
by funnybluebox
Summary: A young Sherlock is sick, and when Mycroft refuses to help him out, things just get worst. Sherlock comes to realize that caring is not an advantage.


"Mycroft?" Sherlock's normally cool, smooth tone was hoarse.

"What is it Sherlock?" Mycroft didn't look up from his work.

"Can you give me a ride to school?" As much as he was loath to admit, Sherlock needed Mycroft's help today. He had felt crummy all week but hadn't paid it much mind, for getting sick was for the weak and Sherlock knew that if he powered through, he would not succumb to such weakness. He was wrong. Powering through was the last thing he should have done, especially since it was flu season.

"Why?"

"I"m not feeling well, and it's snowing outside."

"I don't need this now Sherlock. Walk as you normally do." Mycroft dismissed him and returned to his work.

Sherlock should have known Mycroft would reject him. He always did. "Fine, never mind then." Sherlock turned on his heel and went out the door into the cold winter morning.

By the time Sherlock reached the school, he was shivering severely. He headed to his first class, AP Chemistry Honors. The lab was a breeze and he finished with plenty of time to spare. He spent the rest of the class period with his head in his hands, still shivering slightly. Next period was English and mercifully, today was silent reading day so he tried to relax and get warmed up in peace.

"Mr. Holmes?" His teacher, Miss Piper, stood over him with her hand on her hips.

"Yes ma'am?"

"You need to be reading. Get a move on." She spent the rest of class watching him to make sure he was reading but Sherlock flipped pages randomly just to annoy her.

After that was philosophy, and a classmate shocked him by asking him if he was all right after he failed to answer a question correctly.

"I'm fine."

"Maybe you could see the nurse." Sherlock sighed, going to the nurse would do no good. If he was running a temperature then they would make him call his parents to go home and there was no way Mycroft would pick him up.

"I said I'm fine."

By strings class, Sherlock was feeling downright awful, for his shivering was back . He set up his violin and music but had to ask to sit out for the noise was giving him a headache. In the other room, he leaned against the wall with his head resting on his knees. Anger started gnawing on his insides. He had gone out on a limb to ask for help this morning and this is what he got. He should have known that Mycroft wouldn't care. Why has he bothered to ask? What did he think would happen?

Sitting there, Sherlock realized that it made sense. Mycroft had work to do and if he had given Sherlock a ride then he would be behind. Caring was not an advantage.

"Holmes. I think you should go see the nurse." Sherlock looked up to see a classmate of his, John, peering at him. Sherlock's jaw tightened, he couldn't take it anymore. People pretending to care about him even though he knew no one did.

"Me? I should go to the nurse? You should go to the nurse, or maybe a psychoanalyst for that ridiculous limp of yours. It's all in your head, idiot. You have no physical problem. So a mental insufficiency or maybe a traumatizing childhood experience caused you to have this notion that you were actually injured. Your left hand tremors slightly but not your right. You have a tendency to favor you right leg of course, for you believe your left one to be injured, meaning that the problem occurred in your right brain. Your right brain is more emotional side. Family issues? Ah, you're flinching. That means I'm on the right track. Your tremor suggests that in situations of confrontation you would clench your fists, maybe feeling to the need to physically protect yourself? From an emotional abuse though? You must have been emotionally and physically abused, but the lingering limp is due to extreme feelings of guilt. Am I right?" Sherlock was panting, he had said this all incredibly fast and loudly.

His head ached more than ever but it was worth it to see the expression of shock on John's face meld into one of hurt and anger. "I am aren't I?" Sherlock smiled viscously when John didn't respond. "I know you don't actually care, Watson. Do everyone a favor and quit pretending. You fool no one, lest of all me." Sherlock got up and left the room, leaving John still staring dumbly at the wall.

The rest of the day passed in a haze. Sherlock wasn't the only one at school who was sick that day so it wasn't out-of-place that he was practically falling asleep with his eyes open in every class. Two of his teachers told him to go to the nurses' but he refused adamantly and they knew better than to test him. Especially when he was in such a foul mood. Sherlock was relieved when the final bell rang and he was free. He checked his phone, not surprised that Mycroft hadn't offered to give him a ride home or even check in to see if he was feeling okay. He staggered home in the snow and had trouble unlocking the front door to his house with his trembling fingers.

When he finally got inside, he set a fire and changed into dry clothes. He fell asleep in minutes and his shivers eventually slowed. In his sleep, angry, unconscious tears streamed down his face. Caring was not an advantage.


End file.
